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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896127">The distance from 'here' to where you'd be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam/pseuds/SecondhandSoldier'>SecondhandSoldier (Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Getting Together, Gift Giving, Long-Distance, M/M, Matt accidentally becomes a sugar daddy, Obliviousness, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:21:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam/pseuds/SecondhandSoldier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt was joking when he said he'd send Noel a cookie care package down to Florida, but he can at least tell himself that's the reason he actually goes through with. Just an inside joke with an ex teammate, nothing more. </p>
<p>The other gifts that follow are a little harder to explain - to Noel and to himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Noel Acciari/Matt Grzelcyk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The distance from 'here' to where you'd be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guys I'm back on my bullshit, yes yes it's happening. </p>
<p>It has been approximately 5 months but I am back with another rare-pair fic that no one really wants to read. Because yes, I am still on the Acciari/Grzelcyk train to rare-pair clown school, population; me. </p>
<p>This is riddled with factual inaccuracies, including but not limited to; cookie delivery services, Matt Grzelcyk's hockey hero, Frank Vatrano's opinion on the meal plan and the 19-20 NHL season schedule. On that note, enjoy.</p>
<p>Title is from 'Set fire to the third bar' by Snow Patrol, fantastic song go listen to it</p>
<p>Cheers!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Matt learns about Noel’s new nickname down in Florida, he laughs his ass off for about fifteen minutes. He then pulls himself together enough to grab his phone and hit speed dial on his phone to do the same thing again. This time, directly to the man himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha.” Noel says drily when Matt finishes,  “What’s so funny this time?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can hear the low buzz of a TV in the background, and the soft whine of Thor as Noel must get up from his sofa. It’s a good sofa, Noel had sent him a picture of it when he got his place down south, the first piece of furniture he’d bought. He sends Matt pictures every now and then of tables, chairs or dressers, asking for help deciding which ones would fit his new place best. Matt’s no interior designer, but his taste in furniture is apparently inoffensive enough for Noel so he keeps offering his opinions. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cookie.” He spits out, “God you’re so predictable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Noel snorts, “Yeah I thought you’d enjoy that one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really throw a tantrum after the game?” The Bruins locker room had enjoyed hearing that story, read dramatically by Jake after practice between choked down laughs. It’s hard when a teammate leaves, but it’s worse when they were so well liked; no one mentions it but they all miss Noel, “Over fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>cookies</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not three.” Which Matt takes as a definitive yes. He doesn’t know when Noel’s after game ritual started; when he decided that win or lose he had to meticulously eat two cookies as soon as he could get his hands on them. It was strange for sure, but hey, you don’t fuck with people’s pre game, or post game in this case, rituals. It just isn’t the done thing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>'We'll make sure to send you a cookie care package, don't want your performance to suffer.' Matt assures him jokingly, “We need you guys to do better than the Leafs this season.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well if you’re offering I won’t say no,” And Matt thinks that’ll be the last time it comes up - a throwaway joke in a playful conversation. You don’t just send ex-teammates cookies in the mail - no matter how amusing the idea is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sees the bakery when they’re in Colorado for their first match up of the season. The team had been given the morning to walk around the town before practice that evening, and a small group of them had happily taken the opportunity. They’d been trying to find a place for lunch when the shop had caught his eye, a little run down but the glass front displayed such a range of baked goods that Matt’s mouth began to water. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey give me a second.” He half shouts to Sean and Jake, who’d continued to walk on, gesturing to the building, “I’ll catch you guys up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t wait for a response before he ducks inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s some kind of folk music playing in the background, and the smell of freshly baked bread and muffins hits him full force as he enters. A sweet looking lady, white-silver hair falling loosely around her shoulders, smiles at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning lovely, you here for something specific today?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, just looking thanks.” He bobs his head awkwardly and glues his eyes to the glass display case. There’s no shortage of sweet treats and baked goods on show, delicately frosted cupcakes and cream filled pastries. But that’s not what catches his eye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a homemade Oreo, two triple chocolate chunk cookies the size of a puck with buttercream frosting smeared between them. It reminds him, a little wistfully, of Noel. If he’d been here, they’d have brought two, and Noel would have had to have eaten at least half of Matt’s - he’s never had much of a sweet tooth. Matt would have bitched about the diet plan the whole time - it was what he did - but he’d have enjoyed every bite. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything alright love?” The lady behind the counter asks, smiling at him gently, “No one should look sad in here, it’s a bakery.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, just thinking .” He pauses and stares at the cookie some more. He thinks back to what he'd said to Noel on the phone, about the cookie care package, and suddenly what was originally a joke, seems like a fantastic idea. Surely cookies would last being shipped from Denver to Florida.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He points through the glass shield, “Would those survive being shipped somewhere?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman raises one silvery eyebrow, “It depends where, but we do have a delivery service available if you need it. It's the US only though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt grins at her, “ That’s perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the end he gets five of the cookies delivered to Noel’s new place in Florida. They’ll arrive within the next week the lady assures him, perfectly fresh, although they’ll have to be eaten quickly. That he assures her, would not be an issue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She even lets him scrawl a quick note to slip into the inside of the box, a lavender stationary page slightly smudged with chocolate. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I wasn’t joking about the care package, hopefully this will stop any future tantrums’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You took fucking forever man,” Sean complains when Matt finally catches up to them in a Starbucks, “You didn’t even get anything, what took so long?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was just looking,” He shrugs, “Seemed like a neat place.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever man,” Sean turns back to look at the Starbucks menu, “You think I can get away with a caramel macchiato if I also get a banana?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Matt replies with a grin, “But you should do it anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell yeah,” Jake slaps his shoulder before throwing his arm around Sean, “Screw the meal plan!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt chuffs under his breath, thinking about the small package about to make its way across the country, screw the meal plan indeed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to need the name of the place you got these,” Is the first thing Noel says to him when Matt picks up the phone less than a week later, “Because they’re to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> for.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you eaten them all already?” Matt sits up from his sofa unable to stop the smile stretching across his face, “Pretty sure the meal plan doesn’t allow for that, even in Florida.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> sent them to me. Shit, this was your plan the whole time wasn’t it? Sabotage the Panthers by killing me with sugar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt snickers, “I don’t think taking you out ruins the whole team Noelie, after all it’s not like you’re a superstar or anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reference to Yandle’s prank on Weegar sets them both off laughing again, that had been a fun joke amongst the brittle cheer at Noel’s leaving party. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Franky wants to know where his cookie package is by the way, he’s very jealous he never got one.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t quite snort in disbelief, but it’s a close thing. Frank is an anal about the meal plan as you could get, even in the off-season he doesn’t let himself stray too far. Unlike some people Matt knows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Frank would just give them to you, I know what he’s like.” They still saw each other during the off season. And on the rare chance when they were in Florida for a few days on road-trips, they always made sure to get dinner with some of the other Bruins. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“True, he’s got a point though. Respect the meal plan Matty, or they’re going to start telling me off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can’t imagine anyone on the Panthers getting angry over a few extra cookies but he laughs and plays along anyway, “Sure sure, but if you guys start winning too many games who knows what I’ll be forced to do.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t actually send any actual baked goods again, Noel’s ‘respect the meal plan Matt’ firmly rooted in his brain. But when he sees a onesie covered in little oreos whilst in Toronto he makes sure to take a picture and send it to Noel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Noel</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dude. Want.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The text comes back in a few hours later, when they’re sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for the bus to take them to the arena. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what time do we leave tomorrow?” He asks the team at large, peering up from his phone screen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Plane leaves after one, Bruce wants us ready to leave by twelve.” Bergy frowns at him, “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No reason, cheers Bergy.” Matt turns back to his phone and grins, that’s plenty of time for him to run to Wal-Mart in the morning. He might have said he wouldn’t send anymore cookies, but that promise didn’t extend to other cookie themed paraphernalia. He sets his alarm for early the next morning right then and there, knowing he’ll forget if he waits till after the game. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They eek out a win, and although his legs ache, the next morning he makes the run to the little shop in the city centre where he found the onesie. It’s obscenely expensive for what it is, but this is Toronto and it’ll be worth it, he reasons, to get Noel’s reaction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stuffs it into his carry on, still in the carrier bag and doesn't say a word when Jake asks him why he missed breakfast. A couple of the guys look at him weirdly, but no one pushes, sometimes you need to take a break the morning after a game, it happens. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And when they get back to Boston he stops off by the post office on his way home, buying the delivery packaging whilst there. The lady working raises an eyebrow at the brightly coloured onesie, and comments that her son has one just like it at home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gets a picture the next week of Noel in the onesie with Thor curled up on the sofa. He saves it with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It becomes a habit after that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t find stuff in every city they visit, there’s often not enough time to go looking around the shops anyway, but when he does find something he never hesitates to buy it. He sends them first class as soon as they get back to Boston, it's costly but hell, but he gets paid enough and he needs to spend it somehow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a Golden Retriever money bank in San Jose,  sent with a little note saying ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I saw this and Thor-ought of you’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A cookie flavoured tea from Vancouver, which gets him a phone call at 6am and an exclamation of ‘I don’t even know they made tea like this’. Neither had Matt, so he’d brought a pack of his own, and they spent the morning talking in low voices drinking oatmeal cookie tea. It makes the loss against LA a little easier to swallow when he sees the box of tea on the desk of the hotel room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In St Louis he finds a child's wooden bulldozer toy, yellow and black, and the cost to ship it even from Boston is crazy, but he does it anyway. The picture he gets of it sat proudly on Noel’s windowsill doesn’t make him as happy as he thought it would, and he can’t work out why. He thinks maybe, he’d have liked to see the reaction to it, to any of the gifts really. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After each gift arrives he’ll get a call or a picture, sometimes both depending on how busy their schedules are, and they’re often the highlight of his day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not a conscious decision not to examine that fact too closely; the schedule is busy this time of year and self reflection has never been Matt’s thing anyway. He files it away under things to think about in the off-season, along with his apartments broken oven and whether or not he should get a dog. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The lady at the post office knows me by name now.” Noel tells him over the phone one evening, “She keeps commenting on it, I think she thinks I’m some kind of sugar baby.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You earn more than me.” Matt points out, taking his frying pan off the heat and surveying the chicken sizzling inside; it’s not burnt, just lightly charred. “Besides, what kind of sugar daddy sends people cookies and money boxes, rather than just cash.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I look like some kind of sugar daddy expert, Matt? Because I can assure you, I am not.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt chuckles, “Consider me assured, you’re completely new to all the sugar daddy stuff, I can respect that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant and you kno-” Noel’s cut off by the faint echo of a doorbell  in the background of the call and Matt makes a questioning noise. It’s not particularly late down in Florida, but past the time for most social calls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh shit, Frank and Troch are here,” Noel explains, “We’re going to go out for some drinks, sorry to cut this short I completely forgot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Matt waves it off, “I’ll talk to you later.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ends the call feeling unsatisfied, but as he stares at his slightly charred dinner he can’t put a finger on why. It’s not that he’s jealous - he’s so happy that Noel’s fitting in well down in Florida, it’s what he deserves after all. And he has nothing to be jealous of anyway, they still talk it’s not like he’s being replaced. Several times they’ve discussed their summer plans for while they’re both in Boston in the off-season. They’re going to go see a Red Sox Game and Noel wants to visit every single one of the restaurants he doesn’t have down in Florida anymore. Matt had even suggested going down there for a couple of weeks, to enjoy the coast in Noel’s new home town. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he’s not jealous, he reasons, but if it’s not jealousy, then what the hell is it? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was kind of inevitable that he and Noel would be close friends, and not just them but most of the guys from Providence; Sean, Jake, even Charlie. It happens when you’re on a sports team, but they all joined Providence more or less around the same time too. Most of them made the jump to the NHL within the same year or so, and that kind of experience forms a bond. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And in the summers, when everyone else cleared off home, Noel was the only one even remotely local to him. Almost five years of playing together, almost five years of summers spent seeing each other more often than not; and now Matt’s lucky to even get to call him once a week. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So it’s completely normal to miss him this much. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he catches himself turning to say something to someone who isn’t here sometimes, or opening his mouth to give a chirp that won’t make much sense anymore. There is no Noeldozer, no Mr Rhode Island anymore, not in Boston anyway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels it more than he usually does the weekend of a BU vs Providence College match up. They’d go to those games as often as they could, and even if they were busy they’d trade bets and insults as the game went on. Sometimes the other guys would get involved, but most often they wouldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches the game alone that night, pulls it up on the local channel and feels some sense of victory when BU wins 4-1. It’s not the same, can’t be anymore, but when he gets a text from Noel that’s just the frowny face emoji, it feels a little closer to what he remembers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He and Charlie go out the next morning for brunch to celebrate, although it’s something they do fairly regularly anyway. It’d become something of a tradition when the Bruins’ old college teams played against each other. The loser would have to buy a meal for the winners; Matt’s won many free dinners this way, it’s fucking fantastic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stick mostly to the meal plan, salads with their eggs, and nothing with too much sugar. They both resolutely do not bring up the fact that last year, someone else would have been paying for the food. Instead, they split it equally, and wander slowly back to their cars, checking out the shop windows they go. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re just passing a kitsch gift store, cheap snow globes and postcards hanging from racks out the front, when it catches his eye. In the last few months he’d picked up some kind of sixth sense for any kind of object that would remind him of Noel that could be found across the continental US; it was comforting to know it happened at home in Boston too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Charlie!” He calls the other man over, pointing at the window sticker he’d seen through the window, “Look at this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie, as Matt knew he would, loses his shit and bursts into peals of laughter in the middle of the sidewalk, and with good reason. The sticker is shaped like a cartoon oreo, WHOREO plastered across the front in blue capitals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh, Noel would fucking love this you know,” Charlie spits out when his laughter dies into choking coughs, “You should send him a picture.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Matt just laughs weakly and nods halfheartedly, he’ll be doing more than sending him a picture, he already knows that much. He goes in the next day and buys it, it’s become second nature by and now, and anyway -  Charlie’s right. Noel’s going to fucking love</span> <span>it.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I feel like I should send you something too, make it even.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Noel had said this to him after he’d received the window sticker, Matt had passed it off as a joke, made a sarcastic remark about one sided relationships and gone on to rib him about his hat-trick against Dallas. He forgets about it completely over Christmas; they don’t get to see each other, the panthers schedule too tight for Noel to do more than fly in for two days. They get half an hour in the dying hours of Christmas Day for a phone call, and Noel makes no mention of it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But less than a week later the receptionist of his apartment building hands him a parcel, wrapped in brown paper with his address scrawled on the front. He recognises the writing immediately and hastily thanks the lady at the front desk before hauling ass up to his flat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels like a kid on Christmas, tearing open the paper none too gently, pushing it to the other side of the counter and setting the cardboard box within down. It’s fairly light, and a little bigger than a shoe-box in size. When he opens it and sees what’s inside, he has to lean on the counter to stop himself falling to the floor in shock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>-Yands has connections, but I still owe him many McDonalds for this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Merry Christmas Matty-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a good ten minutes Matt just sits and stares at the jersey in his hands. It’s rare, he knows that much, an authentic 1996 Boston Bruins pooh bear if the label is correct, the yellow just as lurid as he remembers. The signature is just under the 77 on the back - Ray Bourque -  Matt’s hockey hero growing up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the fucking ugliest jersey he’s ever seen and Matt has never loved anything more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This isn’t like gifts Matt’s been sending, small things not worth that much even if they have a sentimental value. This jersey though, would sell on the market for hundreds of dollars, a true collectors item. There’s no inside joke here, and the trouble Noel must have gone to get his hands on this, knowing that Matt would be desperate to have it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is a different kind of present. You can’t just find this sort of thing in a store, you have to look for it, have to ask the right people and pay the right price. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches hesitantly for his phone but can’t quite bring himself to plug in Noel’s number, so he just slowly turns it in his hands. What would he even say; thank you? Sure that’s the usual response, but it seemed inadequate somehow. You say thank you when someone passes you the potatoes at the dinner table, not when someone gets you a present you’ve been dreaming about since your were twelve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What else was there to say though - you didn’t have to? I can’t thank you enough? This is the best gift I’ve ever received? All were true, but Matt knows Noel knows this and none of them would give him the answer to what he wants to know the most. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why go to all this trouble just to repay Matt back for all the joke gifts he’d sent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost calls Charlie to see if he has any idea, goes as far as hovering his thumb over the call button, but he doesn’t go through with it. Matt knows what Charlie would say, he’d call Matt an idiot and tell him to open his eyes, stop being a coward and call Noel to ask him himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he doesn’t call Charlie, and he doesn’t call Noel either. Just sets down the phone, sits there quietly, and lets himself think.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They face Florida for the first time in early January, in the second half of a back to back against Tampa, and the last game before the all star break. They’d won against the Lightning, but the Panthers are a good team and there’s no guarantee they’re going to pick up two points here as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no time to see Noel before the game, the Bruins get in late the morning of the match, and Bruce spends most of the time between going through plays and strategies. They eat lunch as a team, enjoying the heat of the Floridian sun, a stark difference from the sharp cold winds of Boston. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The game is brutal, but fun, they always enjoy playing against the Panthers. Pasta nets two in the first period, and Charlie slams one in thirty seconds into the second period to put them up 3-0. But the Panthers, as seems to be their habit, claw their way back to send it to overtime. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Marchy who scores the game winner, because who else, a quick wrist shot from the left circle that sails over Bobrovsky’s glove by an inch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They keep the locker room celebrations quick, even for a road game, and head out through the players entrance. The bus takes them back to the hotel, a short drive into Fort Lauderdale, where they’ve planned to meet Noel and Frank.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two Panthers arrive in Noel’s car, and Matt suppresses the urge to burst into laughter when he sees the Whoreo’s sticker stuck into the back window. Charlie catches sight of the sticker as well, and frowns in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks towards Matt questioningly and Matt pretends not to see it, he can field questions later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They go for dinner, around 15 of them, some of the newer guys who didn’t know Noel begging off in the name of sleep, and Chara just wishes them a good night. It’s good food, and even in January the Florida evening is pleasant and warm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They head to a bar afterwards, not something they do often mid season, and less so on the road, but it’s a special occasion. Guys bail out as and when throughout the evening, and it’s just before midnight when Noel takes him leave, Matt tagging along with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Noel’s house is close enough to walk to from the bar, and neither of them question why Matt’s following him instead of going back to the hotel. He’s lucky their flight doesn’t leave until late the next day and Cassidy doesn’t want them up early. The journey to Noel’s place is short and silent, yet comfortable. They meander along the beachside path, and it’s all he can do to keep his breathing steady when their arms or hands brush ever so slightly. He has become, he’s realising, a little bit love drunk when it comes to Noel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Matt’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk, just slightly buzzed, but he’s pretty certain that if he doesn’t say something tonight he’s never going to say anything. Not that he knows what </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>is, the words he wants to say keep jumbling in his brain like scrambled eggs. He knows what he wants, can tentatively put a label on why he misses the guy so much, and why the constant phone calls only made it so much worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What he wants is to be able to hold Noel’s hand, to lean against him while they walk. Wants to spend hours on the phone with the man knowing that it wasn’t just bros being bros, and that if they were in the same place he’d be able to kiss him stupid on a whim.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The problem is he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to go around getting what he wants - or if he can even have it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I never thanked you for the jersey,” He says out of the blue once they reach Noel’s place, leaning against the brick wall of the house whilst Noel unlocks the door. The other man blinks at him and smiles, slow and fond. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine Matt, I know what you’re like.” And he does, amazingly. He hadn’t said anything when all Matt had sent him in thanks was a picture of the jersey, framed and placed proudly on the wall. Made no mention of the effort he’d gone to get his hands on it for Matt, just sent a smiley emoji and started complaining about the weather. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not the point” Matt says, eyes fixed on the ground, as he follows Noel through into the kitchen, “That was like, a way better gift than all the shit I sent you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked all the shit you sent me, they’re cool. Especially the onesie, I didn’t know I needed one in my life until you sent it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No but it’s not the same, this jersey is something I’ll keep for the rest of my life probably. It’s, god I don’t even know how to put it in words, but you went to all that trouble for me, I’m not even your teammate anymore,” He realises belatedly that he’s waffling a bit, but the words can’t seem to stop flowing out his mouth, “And I don’t know what you meant by it, if it was friendly or something else, but I do love it alot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Matt. Matt, look I didn’t-. There’s nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendly</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that jersey, Matt. Maybe I read this wrong but that’s not what I was getting at with this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” He says quietly, slowly rubbing his thumb across the edge of his watch “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Noel sounds kind of resigned now, leaning against the kitchen counter and rubbing his eyes with one hand, “I already knew how I felt, how I </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> about you, and I just figured, well, I didn’t get any gifts from Sean, or Wags and I played on a line with those guys. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘But you’ indeed. Matt had been the one to look at all the shitty cookie themed things, the kitschy golden retriever trinkets, no one else. They hadn’t made Sean feel sad, or made Chris miss Noel like a fucking phantom limb. No. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks that maybe he’s been a little bit oblivious about this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t realise - when I sent you those things it wasn’t because-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look I get it, the fact that I might be in love with you doesn’t mean you have to explain yourself, it’s fine Matt,” Something like regret is creeping into Noel’s eyes, and Matt wants nothing more to wipe it away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No I do.” Matt pushes off the counter and turns to face Noel, looking the other man in the eye, “When I sent you those things I didn’t do it because I knew I was in love with you, actually I don’t know why I sent them at all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Matt,” Noel winces, “We really don’t need to do this-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! But it made me realise that I do, or at least, that I think I do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You think what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he has a decision to make now, standing here barely a hair's breadth away from someone who could possibly be the love of his life. Either he chickens out, says it’d never work and he’s sorry, or he could say fuck it and never look back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not good at this, you know what I’m like. It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before and now, this - with you - I..,” He trails off unsure of what else to say, “Stop me if this is a bad idea, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t stop looking into Noel’s eyes as he reaches out to guide his mouth down to his own, just a gentle press of lips first, then more insistent. Noel to his credit gets with the program quicker than Matt would have in his position, his hands settling on Matt’s hips as he presses closer. They keep the pace slow, trading soft lazy kisses in the stark artificial light of the kitchen. There’s some part of his brain, a small tiny part, that whispers about sleep and a flight tomorrow, but he ignores it. Right now there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing and nowhere else he’d rather be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the first time he’s kissed a guy, not by a long shot, but it is the first time he’s kissed a guy he’s serious about. This could be something, like an actual, long term kind of something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Long distance isn’t easy, especially when you travel as much as they do. But all Matt has to do is look at all the things strewn around Noel’s house that Matt sent him, or think about all the late night calls and he knows they can make it work. They’ll have to talk about it, it’ll be a long conversation, possibly painful but he knows what he wants now, what he could be having. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And if it all works out? It’ll be more than worth it, that Matt knows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Almost a year later; one Stanley Cup final, one Stanley Cup, one off-season and another Christmas later, he receives an envelope in the mail. He can recognise Noel’s handwriting in an instant these days, and it’s not like anyone else sends him anything by mail these days except the bill company and the bank. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’d continued the gift giving since they got together, small little things that remind them of each other. Matt’s apartment is filled with them, on the shelves, the sofa, even the bathroom. There’s an abundance of Panthers merchandise too, because Noel is dead set on trying to get him to become a die-hard fan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt’s not sentimental enough to tell him that Noel’s presence on the Panthers has been enough to turn him into a fan since day 1, but he thinks it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> sentimental enough to take the Stanley Cup down with him to Florida when his day with it coincided with the half of the off season they were spending in Fort Lauderdale. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That day went down as one of the best in Matt’s life, even now he can’t stop the smile from crossing his face as he thinks about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opens the envelope with a butter knife that was lying on the table top, and shakes the contents onto the table. There’s a postcard from LA, and ripped out calendar page with the next Bruins v Panthers game circled in red (because Noel was sentimental and made no attempt to hide it) and a key. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knows straight away what it’s a key to; Noel’s new house. It’s a little larger than his last one, and further from the beach but with a larger garden for Thor. The two of them had spent the last few weeks of the off season looking for that place, and though he’s not the one living in it, Matt had fallen completely in love with it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grips the key tight in one hand and reaches for the phone, letting himself grin just a little as Noel picks up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So about your present…”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are adored, I do take requests over on my tumblr; @keep-calm-and-bergeron so come follow me there</p>
<p>Til next time,</p>
<p>Cheers!</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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